The moisture in the air covers my face, spritzing me like a vegetable in the produce section at the grocery store. I breathe in and exhale; releasing tension and stress. There’s no little cloud, it’s not cold enough. A good spring rain that puts me in a long sleeve shirt and a ball cap. My arms and legs in continuous motion. Keeping a beat on the soft wet earth. There’s no traffic, no line, the odor of french fry grease doesn’t linger. Just the rain falling soft and steady, detoxing the air, replenishing the field. The birds that have become regulars at home are not out today; except for the robin who sees today as an opportune time to feast. Mr. Owl that lives in the big trees at the bottom of the field is all nestled in and doesn’t seem to pay any attention to the jogger. I wonder if it is the same owl that watched the neighbor girl and I tear through the fields on four wheelers trying to out stunt the other. Or if it is the same owl that brought our ghost stories to life around a make shift campfire.
Out of the mud and onto the county road each step feels lighter and louder against the pavement. I focus my eyes north, holding my gaze on the mountains, the canyons, valleys and ridge lines that have acted as a second home to me. The foggy haze blocks the peaks making the mountains appear both small and never ending. I quicken my pace as the last quarter mile stretch dissipates beneath my shoes. The third lap of my mile loop is finished. I don’t stop, just take a deep breath and begin again. Faster more agile. Competing with myself. Remembering more memories and letting my worries go; pound into the muddy ground.